


The Beat Down

by story_monger



Series: You're The Only North Star (Platonic VLD Week) [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Coran being a badass, Found Family, Gen, Swearing, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 20:31:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10047614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/story_monger/pseuds/story_monger
Summary: Coran's team is imprisoned and in danger. Coran has neither the time nor the patience for that sort of nonsense. Coran, therefore, is going in to save them.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to give Coran some spotlight. Warning for lots of swearing, but it's all pretty PG. 
> 
> Platonic VLD Week
> 
> Day 1 (Feb. 26): Sunlight / Moonlight  
> Day 2 (Feb. 27): Quiet / Chaos  
> Day 3 (Feb. 28): Lions / Bonding  
>  **Day 4 (Mar. 1): Enemies / Family**  
>  Day 5 (Mar. 2): Got your back / Don’t let go  
> Day 6 (Mar. 3): Injury / Healing  
> Day 7 (Mar. 4): Free Day / AU

“Coraaaan!”

Coran straightened from the soldering work he’d been doing, eyebrows drawn together. Voices in the castle—no, that wasn’t right. He was supposed to be the only one up here; everyone else was planetside for the latest diplomatic song and dance. Allura had been hoping to convince the locals, a people known as the Ruta, to contribute their not-insignificant resources to the Voltron Alliance.

Anyway, point was that Coran shouldn’t be hearing anyone shouting his name. He shoved his goggles to the top of his head and glanced down at Platt, who was keeping him company by taking a nap in his tool belt.

“That wasn’t you, was it?” he asked, mostly rhetorically. Platt stirred but didn’t bother to wake up. Well then.

“CORAN!”

Maybe this was the first indication of Coran’s mind finally breaking, he considered. Frankly, Coran wouldn’t be all that surprised if that was the case. He wasn’t getting any younger, and they said the mind did funny things when you spent too much time in the void.

Something outside the doorway thumped, like someone had been going too fast and clipped a corner. A second later, Lance skidded into the room with his helmet in his hand and a wild look in his eyes.

“Oh, so that was you!” Coran enthused. “Excellent. I was starting to think I was finally going down the slippery slope to space madness.”

“What?” Lance panted, followed immediately by, “Why the hell didn’t you answer? I was trying to reach you over the comms system for the last few dobashes.”

“Quiznak,” Coran muttered, setting down his solder iron. “I thought I’d fixed all the bugs in that thing.”

“Whatever, whatever,” Lance said, waving both hands. “We’ve got a situation down there.”

Coran raised his eyebrows. “And what’s the manner of this situation?”

“Uh, so I think things were going well. But then Allura mentioned that Voltron had had previous paladins, and that made this nasty piece of work, Uti I think, start asking tons of questions about what would happen if the current paladins were to die or just disappear, and Allura had to admit that they’d find replacements. That already wasn’t a great sign, but then right after dinner, Uti started trying to argue that their species would be way better at using Voltron against Zarkon. Then Allura got—well, you know how Allura gets when people get up in her face. And that was about when the soldiers came out of the woodwork. Now they’ve got the rest of the team locked up in some high security prison, and I really have no idea what they plan on doing to them because I was, y’know, focusing on getting the heck out of there and into Blue and—“ Lance buried his hand in his hair. “It’s bad.”

“High security prison, you say?” Coran muttered, tugging thoughtfully at his moustache. “Well, that’s certainly manageable. Nothing like that time the locals were trying to set us all on fire, eh?”

“Coran, these people are scary. Like, really super scary. I don’t know if we have the gun power to beat them.”

“Guns?” Coran tossed his goggles to the side and set his tool belt a bit more gently on the floor. “My dear boy, I never said a word about guns.”

***

“I don’t feel like this is going to work,” Lance said.

“Number three, _I_ don’t feel like you’re trusting my prowess in these things,” Coran replied. “Can’t even tell you the number of scrapes me and Alfor got ourselves out of back in the day.” Lance pursed his lips as he eased the Blue Lion through the atmosphere. Below them, the glittering grid pattern of the planet’s capital city unfurled across the landscape.

“Coran, you didn’t see—literally everything about these guys’ culture is about fighting. Like, they live and breathe the chance to beat up their enemies, and if they don’t have enemies handy, they live and breathe to have it out with one another. It’s like the Spartans pumped up times a million.”

“I don’t know who the Spartans are, but I take your point,” Coran said patiently. “And I already know this, Lance. The Rutas have always been well-known for being pugnacious. Allura knew the dangers in approaching them. Honestly, this is only to be expected.”

“Okay?” Lance glanced up. “So, what’s your plan?”

“Start the fight on my terms, mainly.” Coran peered through the viewport. “Also, try to avoid these aircraft.”

“What air—oh, puta madre.” Lance yanked at the controls, forcing the Blue Lion into a hard right. The pair of approaching fighter ships just grazed past them.

“Nice piloting,” Coran said cheerfully. “Now, if you can just land on that large strip of green without getting battered by these ships, that would be ideal.”

“I dunno if I can—“

“Lance.” Coran placed a firm hand on Lance’s shoulder, and Lance peered up at him with a tight expression. “I have no doubt that you are utterly capable of this,” Coran said in a firm voice, the same voice he’d used on the fresh, skittish recruits once upon a time. Lance blinked, then gave a small nod. Coran retreated, satisfied, as Lance exhaled hard, rolled his shoulders, and thrust the controls forward.

It was bracing; Coran had to admit that much. He hadn’t ridden on one of the lions in a while, and he’d forgotten that there was minimal turbulence shielding on these things. When Lance did a series of barrel rolls, Coran had to keep a tight grip on the back of Lance’s chair to stop himself from going flying.

But in the end, Lance managed to land the Blue Lion where Coran had indicated. Coran noted Lance’s hands shaking ever so slightly, but his face was split into a huge grin.

“Okay,” Lance said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m gonna need you to act as my witness that I totally killed it out there.”

“Killed it dead,” Coran said warmly, patting Lance’s shoulder. “But we’re not done yet, Paladin. Up you get.”

“Right, rescue mission.” Lance hopped to his feet and looked up at Coran. “So, if we’re not going in with guns blazing, what’s the plan?”

“You were right that the Ruta people prize combat above all else,” Coran said, leading the way toward the cockpit’s exit. “But that doesn’t mean they only value physical combat.”

“Um. What other combat is there?” Lance asked, hurrying to follow.

“Philosophical combat!” Coran said, tapping his temple. “No Ruta worth their hide can say no to a good argument.”

“I—so we’re going to argue our way into rescuing the others?”

“Indeed. Now, when the ramp opens, stay behind me and don’t speak unless I say so. This is going to take some stage presence.” Coran rolled his head. “Ready?”

“I mean no, but that doesn’t mean much these days.”

“Fair enough. Here we go.”

Daylight spilled into their eyes, and they were greeted by the sight of several Rutas with blasters aimed at them. Coran grinned and raised his empty hands.

“Greetings!” he called out. “I am Coran of planet Altea, and I invoke law 64.7, section olas, article five.”

There were several ticks of utter silence. Coran distinctly saw two Ruta soldiers give each other a glance. Finally, someone who looked like a commander of some type stepped forward. They were a bit taller than Coran, and their hide was dark brown, their four eyes almost black, their chest vivid red with their youth and health.

“That’s them,” Lance hissed. “The fucker who had the others arrested. Uti or something.”

Uti looked Coran and Lance up and down then made a low, scoffing sound.

 “You have the piss of a ulas to be invoking that law, alien,” they said. They gestured at the Blue Lion. “You brought an ancient weapon to our grounds; we have every right to shoot you where you are and drag your remains through the streets.”

“Certainly, if I’m acting outside of my rights, shoot away,” Coran said pleasantly. Lance stiffened beside him. The commander’s eyes narrowed, but they didn’t give the signal to fire either. Then, huffing irritably, they turned away.

“Stand down,” they ordered. “You two, come with me. I want six jeys fixed on this weapon until further instructions.”

“Her name is Blue,” Lance muttered, but not all that loud. Coran dropped his hands and moved to follow the commander across the lawn and into a low, white building. Once they entered the building, Coran and Lance were ordered into a small room with nothing in it except two chairs. Uti slammed the door behind them, making Lance jump.

“Okay,” Lance said, glancing around. “This is a good thing?”

“Very good,” Coran agreed. “For one, we didn’t get executed on the spot.”

“Right.” Lance eyed Coran. “So that was an actual law you invoked? Wasn’t improvising?”

“I’ll once again draw your attention to the fact that we were not executed on the spot.”

“Fair. What does this law say?”

“It’s an especially useful thing,” Coran said, straightening and flashing Lance a wide grin. “It ensures any sentient being the right to argue for their life and continued survival. The argument is usually held in front of a jury of fourteen council members, and they decide whether your life is granted to you.”

“I…and how does this help the others?”

“Well, you can slip in additional requests.”

“Okay.” Lance crossed his arms over his stomach, making him look abruptly young. “And my job here?”

“To trust me,” Coran said. He cocked his head. “Think you can manage that?”

Lance nodded, his shoulders slumping. “Coran?”

“Mm?”

“I’m glad you’re here.”

“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be, number three,” Coran said, smiling.

***

To give the Ruta full credit, they managed to set up the council in quick order, no doubt because they recognized the importance of the matter. It was a straightforward affair, taking place in what looked to be one of the large governing halls. Fourteen judges, all wearing the rich robes of council members, were arranged on two benches while Coran and Lance got their own chairs in the center of the room. The chair across from them was empty, though several Ruta kept looking expectantly at the far door.

“Who’re you arguing?” Lance asked at one point in a low voice.

“Usually, whomever wants to kill me.” Coran had to cut it off there because at that moment, the door opened and Uti stepped inside. They strode to the empty chair and sat heavily, their legs spread and their arms crossed. Coran grinned at them. They stared stonily back.

An elderly Ruta who seemed to be moderating stood and cleared their throat. “The council acknowledges Coran of planet Altea and Lance Blue Paladin of planet Terra,” they said. “They will battle High Commander Uti of planet Rutaka. No physical altercation is allowed.” With that, the moderator sat and folded their hands, watching expectantly.

Immediately, Coran leapt to his feet and jabbed a finger in Uti’s direction. “This impudent, middle-management toy soldier thinks that they have the right to threaten me and the Blue Paladin? The gall! If I and the Blue Paladin were executed, then Voltron would surely fall into Galra hands, and countless lives of sentient beings would be lost. No one here has the right to take so many lives!”

Behind Coran, Lance shifted. “Uh, should you be insulting—“

“This mindless, orange, slobbering fool has no idea what he’s blabbering on about!” Uti bellowed back, springing to a stand as well. “There’s absolutely no correlation between these aliens’ death and Zarkon taking Voltron. Who is to say that the Ruta couldn’t command Voltron on our own? We would no doubt do a much better job than a bunch of alien pups.”

“Hah, and how would you manage the lions without understanding their quintessence or inner workings, you mangy, runty, tusa-licking grira?” Coran shot back. “The Alteans built Voltron; I understand things about the lions that your species would take decapheebs to realize. Think on that, you spawn of a kirra worm!” Coran tilted his head toward Lance and murmured, “Insults are a traditional part of the law. The more creative ones usually get you good points with the council.”

“I—ok,” Lance murmured back, looking a few shades paler.

The volley of words lasted for at least the next varga, the judges remaining utterly silent while Coran and Uti bellowed at one another. Finally, the moderator stood and clapped their hands. Uti, who had been in the middle of comparing Coran’s parents to venereal diseases, shut their jaw with a snap.

“The council shall deliberate,” the moderator announced. “If both parties could step out.”

Coran gave Uti a jaunty salute before turning and following Lance out their far door. They emerged into a small antechamber. Someone had set out glasses with a pitcher of water and a platter of what looked like wrapped meats and cheeses. Coran filled one of the glasses and took several long gulps of water.

“You’re not afraid they’ve poisoned it?” Lance asked.

“Poisoned?” Coran said, looking askance at him. “The Ruta are not completely without principle, you know.”

“Hey, if you say so.” Lance placed his hands on his hips. “Good job out there, though. That was intense.”

“Invigorating,” Coran agreed. “I’d forgotten how much energy it takes. Although, to be fair, last time I had to argue my way out of an execution, I was much younger.”

“Really?” Lance cocked his head, mouth tugging up into a grin. “You know, when we get back, you’re going to have to tell me about that.”

“Certainly,” Coran agreed. “It’s a good story. Lots of near misses and daring escapes.”

“Yeah.” Lance frowned, looking troubled again. “I hope this mess turns into another story.”

Coran and Lance waited for a little over half a varga before an attendant appeared to usher them back into the room. Uti was already there, staring into the middle distance and acting for all the world as if they didn’t see Coran and Lance.

“The jury has agreed,” the moderator announced. “Coran of planet Altea is to be permitted his life for the knowledge he holds of Voltron, and for the greater good of the battle against the Galra.”

“Yeah!” Lance whooped, and clapped Coran on the back. “Nice job, Coran the man!” Across the room Uti tilted their head up slightly but otherwise gave no reaction. Coran executed a deep bow to the council, waving at Lance to do the same.

“Thank you,” he said once he’d straightened. “But what of the life of my companion, the Blue Paladin?”

“We understand that paladins are replaceable,” the moderator said. “And this paladin is young and from a distant planet. He is not essential the way that you are. His life is not spared.”

Coran felt Lance stiffen behind him, and he unthinkingly reached out to grip Lance’s wrist to keep him calm. Coran took a deep breath, working to get his thoughts in order. The next few dobashes were going to be delicate.

“In that case, I extend my argument,” he said. “I ask that the lives of all five paladins and of Allura of planet Altea be spared. I ask that we be permitted to return to our ship unharmed and with our lions.” He turned to look at Uti. “Well? Are you against that?”

“Yes,” Uti bit out.

“Will the council let me argue for the lives of the others?” Coran asked the moderator.

“We’ll need to take a vote,” the moderator said slowly.

“Of course. We’ll see ourselves out.” Coran tugged on Lance’s wrist, and Lance stumbled after him. This time, when they went into the antechamber, it felt too small and stifling. Lance was breathing hard.

“Okay, so, I guess this is good news, bad news?” he said. Coran released Lance’s wrist so he could do a tight circuit of the room, running both hands through his hair. “I mean, they’re right. As far as usefulness, you’re leagues away from me. Just, y’know, I’m pretty keen on not dying.”

“Lance,” Coran barked. Lance blinked at him, and he looked so utterly young in that moment that Coran’s chest panged. “Do you remember what I’ve been asking you to do this entire time?” Coran asked.

Lance hesitated, then said, “To trust you.”

“Yes. Can you keep doing that?”

Lance pressed his lips together. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I can trust you. I mean, I do trust you. God, of course I trust you. I—“ Lance took a deep breath. “Yeah. Yeah. I’m good. In a few weeks we’ll be laughing about this, right?”

“Of course,” Coran said, hoping that the confidence injected in his voice sounded genuine.

It only took another few dobashes for the attendant to summon them again. Lance was practically glued to Coran’s side as they returned to their spot, and Coran didn’t have the heart to blame him for it.

“We have decided,” the moderator said. “That you will be permitted to argue for the lives of your team and for your safe passage.”

Lance exhaled gustily. Coran bowed as low as he could. “Thank you,” he murmured. He glanced at Uti, who may as well have been made of stone for how much they had moved.

“You may begin,” the moderator said, taking a seat.

“Yes, I. Yes.” Coran turned his attention to Uti fully. Uti regarded him with a cool, unyielding gaze. Coran supposed that having four eyes helped in that department.

“The council has decided that my life is worth sparing,” Coran said. “But this stupid…ah quiznak, I think I’ve used up all the good insults. Uti, you’re short-sighted to a dangerous degree if you think, for an instant, I could fight Zarkon without my team beside me.”

“As I said, you low-bred frit-eater,” Uti replied. “The paladins are replaceable. These current paladins are young and untrained. The Ruta would provide older, stronger paladins who could bring Voltron to its full potential.”

“For the love of—do you truly believe that Voltron is only about the most powerful?” Coran snapped, for the first time getting truly annoyed. “We already tried that, pillock. We had Zarkon as the Black Paladin; if Voltron’s success was only based on power, we wouldn’t all be standing here arguing about defeating the Galra empire. Voltron needs a team. It needs people who will balance one another. People who will care for one another and for those they’re helping.” Coran huffs. “I might have knowledge and experience, but it would be useless if I didn’t trust and care for my team.”

“Surely you would learn to trust a new team,” Uti said lazily.

“No, actually,” Coran snarled. “I wouldn’t. Allura is practically my daughter, not to mention the last living member of my species. Losing her would physically wreck me. Do you understand that?”

Uti stared. The council was dead silent.

“And I’ve become intensely attached to these young aliens,” Coran continued. “Pidge is one of the brightest minds I’ve ever come across, and one day I swear I’m going to bring her to the great centers of learning. Hunk too, come to think of it. Hunk is brilliant, but also so giving and generous that he’s essentially become our moral center. Keith’s piloting and daring is the sort of thing they would have written songs about in the old days, but I know for a fact that he would lay his life down for any one of us without thinking twice. Shiro—stars sake, that boy has taken the universe on his shoulders. We all know he’s hurt, but he still devotes himself to leading Voltron and to caring for every member of his team. He’s everything Zarkon failed to be. And Lance here.” Coran glanced back to find Lance staring at him, eyes huge. Coran managed a grin for him. “Lance reminds me so much of myself as a young ruffian that it’s downright uncanny. He’s a master at keeping up spirits and keeping us cohesive as a team. And without that, we’d all quickly sink into a very dark place.”

Coran turned to Uti again. “If you want me to contribute my skills and knowledge to battling Zarkon, then I’m sorry, but it’s going to require these six individuals as well. I need them. As far as I’m concerned, every one of them are my family. And I am not the kind of person who can simply turn away from family.” Coran shut his mouth, and the silence was deafening. Even Lance seemed to have gone completely still. Uti opened their mouth, but Coran cut in. “Sorry, hang on, I thought of another one.” He cleared his throat. “You’re a bleating horas, a seeping pile of ikda, and if I were forced to choose between spending more than a few ticks in the same room as you and slowly being digested in the third stomach of a weblum, I’d dive for the weblum so fast that I would enter the sublight arc spectrum.” Coran felt a nudge at his side and peered over to see Lance elbowing him.

“Tell them to come mierda.’”

“Ah, right.” Coran looked to Uti. “Y también, come mierda.”  

Coran glanced back. Lance grinned and gave a thumbs up.

***

The council granted Coran his request.

Coran might have claimed that he knew he’d win all along, but the relief was so great that it threatened to completely undermine his knees. Thankfully, Lance was there to offer a discrete shoulder to lean on. Uti didn’t give any more indication of their emotions than they had before, but Coran liked to think that their eyes were twitching.

Coran and Lance were taken down several more halls until they reached what was unmistakably a prison. They were stationed in a new room and told to wait while the prisoners were processed and released.

“What’re the chances they’re going to shoot at us while we’re trying to leave?” Lance asked, arms crossed.

“Fairly good,” Coran allowed. “But the Ruta take their laws seriously. I think they’ll at least give us a head start.”

“Eh, I guess we can work with that.” Lance glanced at Coran and abruptly uncrossed his arms. “Listen. Um. Were you being honest back there? Saying all that nice stuff about us?”

Coran blinked. “Of course,” he said. “Why would I lie?”

“No reason, I just.” Lance ducked his head, but that couldn’t hide the grin. “For what it’s worth, I think of you as family too.”

“That’s high praise, from what I know about your feelings toward your Earth family,” Coran said warmly. “Thank you, Lance.”

“Sure, I uh.” Lance suddenly took several steps forward and wrapped his arms around Coran’s chest, ducking his head as if embarrassed. Coran started, then laughed and returned the hug, wrapping his arms around Lance’s shoulders.

“If you need us to do your job, then we’re pretty much completely reliant on you,” Lance said quickly, voice slightly muffled. “I mean, you keep the castle running on your own, you talk to us when we’re down, you tell weird jokes to make us laugh even when things are shitty, you make sure we’re eating and drinking on a semi-regular schedule, you help Allura make the tough decisions, you have all this _knowledge_ just sitting in your head. I think we might be dead at this point without you so. Thanks.”

“Of course,” Coran said. And his eyes might have been prickling, but that was neither here nor there. When they parted, Lance’s eyes were suspiciously bright too.

At that moment, the door slammed open, and five people tumbled in.

“Coran! Lance!” Allura exclaimed.

“Holy shit, thank god,” Hunk said at the same time, his eyes wide.

“Did you guys get us out?” Pidge demanded.

“The guard said something about a battle,” Keith added.

Lance let out a delighted laugh and launched himself toward the nearest person, who so happened to be Shiro. Shiro caught him easily, a surprised but pleased expression on his face. Coran followed to properly greet his team. No, not just his team. His family.


End file.
